Renegade
by Stormgear
Summary: Corvus would not deny the fact that he took pride in his kills, or the fact that he found the utmost level of joy when he splattered himself with the scarlet ichor of life. But when the taboo of his heart destroys his sworn oath to the Cog, the human rogue finds himself struggling to sort where his loyalties reside within the Deadmines-home of the Defias Brotherhood.
1. Prologue

"Fate," Corvus spat, a sickening scowl beginning to spread across his face. "Fate is never fair." He let out a slow breath, unknowingly having his fingers trace the line of his scar upon his neck as his eyes looked out at the sea. The tip of his boots touched the edge of the cliff, the wind tousling his hair.

"You are caught in a current much stronger than you are," he continued, his voice hoarse. His eyes continued to flick across the water, a longing gaze coating that of agony and despair. "If you struggle against it, you'll drown not just yourself, but those who try to save you."

Loose rock and soil shifted beneath his feet, giving way to gravity. They fell to the calm ocean below, forever to be lost in the depths of the sea. Corvus watched the scene play out before him, lost in wonder. If he were able to take that one last step towards sea, he too, could be lost. What awaited him on the other side was unknown, which thrilled him all the more.

Images of Vanessa flashed through his head, causing his temples to throb with a dull pain. The aching sensation from his burns arose once more, the memory of unbearable warmth coating chest and ribs. He rolled his tongue in annoyance, allowing a steamed breath to be exhaled out his nose. He looked up towards the sky, and back down to the ocean once more. "Swim with it," he softly breathed, "and you'll survive."

"Corvus?"

_You,_ he thought to himself, not bothering to turn his attention to the voice of the approaching farmer.

"What are you doing all the way out here, son? You should be back inside the ranch house. Your wounds have yet to completely heal," the farmer began, the sound of the deadened grass crunching beneath the soles of his worn leather boots rising into the air. Corvus blinked, allowing the crisp air to fill his lungs painfully.

"I sought to be outdoors," he rasped, clear signs that the injury upon his neck was getting to him. The farmer came up behind the rogue, placing a hand upon his shoulder. It took all of Corvus's control to remain idle under his palm, and not snap the man's arm off right where he stood. His skin prickled as he ground his teeth in annoyance—being touched was the last thing he wanted.

"I know, lad. But you won't heal if you don't rest," replied the farmer.

Corvus shifted his footing, taking the opportunity to slip out from underneath the farmer's resting hand. "I'll take my chances," he gruffly said. There was an unsettling pause from the farmer before he chose to speak again.

"You took your chances once already, and look where it got you," he murmured quietly. With that, he turned on his heel and left Corvus alone upon the Cliffside, leaving him a victim to his own thoughts. Corvus gnashed his teeth together a couple of times as verses and voices broiled painfully within his rising headache. It was true what the old man had said; though he did not know exactly how the older man ended up in the Deadmines, it was the farmer who had found him in his half-dead state. And from what he gathered from the farmer's words, both he and Corvus knew that the rogue was the cause of his own wounds.

Another soft sigh escaped his lips as the wind grew into a bitter cold. _Did I really have a choice in the matter, though? _He thought to himself. After all, it was his own decision to go into the Deadmines to seek a final end to the game he and Vanessa had been playing ever since his withdrawal from the Brotherhood. Many times within the night he would be paid a quiet visit from a shadowy form wielding a pneumatic crossbow, often which he was left to deal with in the end.

_It didn't have to end the way it did. _A sharp pain seared through his left temple. _Yes,_ he unwillingly thought. _It did have to end this way. There were no other options; I didn't want to live out my life waiting for the blade that will cut my thread._

He raised his right arm then, his eyes tracing the crevices within his opened palm. The lines abruptly halted, his complexion taking on a darker tone from the ink forced into the dermis layer of skin. There— residing upon the meat beneath his thumb—was The Brotherhood's cogwheel. Its blackened state filled him with sickening pride. _The machine will not run smoothly if the parts go renegade,_ he quietly thought to himself. He recited such a phrase numerous times to each waylaid traveler he crossed paths with. It was a symbolic icon within the Brotherhood; it represented how the engineer Edwin VanCleef—the very man who took Corvus under his own wing to train—rallied together the exiled workers of Stormwind to serve for a greater cause.

Corvus felt his lips curve upward in a dark smile. _Oh, and what a glorious cause it was, _he hungrily thought. He was not ashamed to admit he took pride in his kills, or the fact that he found joy form within his heart as he splattered himself with the savory red ichor of life. To him, his deeds were a form of revenge on the leaders of the great city, Stormwind. It was their hierarchy that forced his family, upon many others, to live in the pitiful town of Darkshire, forever to live off of the scraps they would reluctantly toss off of their gold-coated plates.

He dropped his arm and looked out to the sea, resentment causing his nose to wrinkle in the slightest. Then again, Corvus held no love for his family, for he received none in return. After all, the origin of his name came from the vermin, Crow—an idea that was formed by his mother when he was born. She held no love towards him, and thought of him as nothing but a nuisance with beady eyes that wailed nonstop for nourishment.

It was his bitch of a mother and bastard of a father that led him to leave the small town of Darkshire and venture north in hopes for a new life. He grimaced. My, a new life he found indeed. It was there within the wood of Elwynn Forest that the Defias Brotherhood found his pitiful self, and almost ended his life there upon the grass. If it weren't for Corvus's angered state and act of defiance, he would have died that fateful night. But because he showed the willingness to serve under the great Cog of the Brotherhood, and because his mind was still young and malleable, he was accepted and placed under the rank of trainee. From that very moment, Corvus was placed under a grueling training regimen until he finally qualified to be Cog-worthy.

He blinked once, running his fingers through his dark blonde beard. He shook his head, realizing how much he lost himself in his thoughts. The sun was already dipping down into the cooling waters below, and the wind's chill began to grow ravenous teeth. Such cold felt surprisingly good upon his bandaged torso, and he relished in such a sensation. "What now?" He hopelessly laughed. The new life that he was supposed to have was ripped away from him and burned down in chaotic flame. Corvus knew he would be unable to start anew; the Cogwheel was already imbedded within his skin, and his hands could not be cleansed of the blood he had shed. He shut his eyes tightly, breathing in the cool air that burned his nostrils and stung his lungs. He allowed himself to stand idle for a moment more before he opened his eyes, turned on his heel, and slowly ventured back to the farmhouse. "My machine is running renegade," he breathed. "And it seems I'm lacking the tools to fix it."


	2. Mother Moon

_**"I **__**loved **_the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."

"For fucks sake, can someone get this kid to _shut up!_" His mother's voice rang in his ears as Corvus stood before her, hot tears streaming down his face as he attempted to keep the snot from running down his slightly parted lips. Each sob he stifled left him exhaling hot breath. "What's he cryin' about now?" asked a deeper voice from another room. "Cut his finger on the kitchen knife," his mother replied, not even bothering to make eye contact with her son.

Corvus felt another sob catch in his throat as his right hand clenched firmly over his left index finger, which was bleeding from the knife wound. His father entered the room, grinding his teeth, "God damn it boy! What did I tell you about messing with the kitchen knives?"

"I…I just wanted to help cut the carrots…" sniffled Corvus, his eyes looking down at the wooden floor. He forced himself to take interest in the cracks in the floorboards, and the way they squeaked as he shifted his weight to his other foot. He felt a thick hand firmly grasp his arm, causing him to yelp out in surprise. "C'mon," his father said gruffly, taking him to the kitchen. He was shoved down onto one of the seats, his father looming over him dangerously. Behind him, Corvus could see the cutting table with half a carrot messily chopped into uneven pieces. On the floor resided the knife that was ever so hastily dropped from pain.

"What do I keep tellin' ya, boy?" His father sneered, his dark eyes looking into Corvus's.

"Not to—"

"Not to fuck with things!" his father interrupted, raising his voice.

"I just wanted to help…" Corvus murmured hopelessly, knowing his words were a lost cause to his father.

"What you call help is a nuisance to this family," his father replied, giving him a hard look. "You were given the name Corvus for a reason," he continued, cruelness dwelling deep within his dark eyes. "Your mother and I didn't even want you. You were an _accident_, you hear me? _An accident._ Ever since you were a baby, you have been a nuisance your mother and I. You're just like a crow—you're_ vermin_."

Corvus flinched at the words and clenched at his finger even harder, looking down to avoid eye contact with his father. He blinked furiously, attempting to stop the flow of more tears from sliding down his face.

"Look at you," his father mocked, "With those _beady little eyes_. Quit with the crocodile tears, boy. You ain't foolin' anyone. You're nine, not two. Fucking act your age," he hissed.

"I was just trying to _help_—" Corvus began again, but was silenced when the back of his father's hand met with his cheek. Stinging pain spread out on his skin like ringlets from a water droplet, and the force about shoved him off of the chair he was seated in.

"You talk when you're asked to, boy," his father barked.

Corvus gritted his teeth and replied with only a nod, his cheeks flushed red. Whether the color came from the slap or from his embarrassment, he didn't know. Nor did he care. He just wanted to be sent up to his room where he could be alone.

"Next time I catch ya fuckin' with things ya aren't supposed to fuck with, I'll give you more than a slap," his father angrily spat. "Now git." With that, his father shoved him out of the room, leaving Corvus to clumsily—and quickly—make his way towards his room upstairs. It was his haven. It was the one thing that his parents hadn't tainted with their hatred.

"Praise the Lord, the little vermin has stopped cryin'." His mother sneered as he walked past her, not even bothering to remove her gaze from the blanket she was sewing. Corvus clenched his teeth and bounded up the stairs, running to his room. He quickly slipped through the door and shut it, his hands pulling the latch of a lock shut. He had made the lock on his own when he was eight—the door before him proved to be a barrier between him and his abusive father when he decided to drink. It was the only thing that prevented harm coming to Corvus when his father was in that state of mind, and he made sure to reinforce the lock every fortnight.

He pressed his forehead against the door, attempting to calm himself. The wood felt good against his skin, and he took the time to take in a couple of deep breaths to soothe his lungs. Once his breathing had slowed, he stood straight, and roughly wiped at his eyes. He flinched slightly as the cut upon spread slightly upon contact with his face, and he withdrew his left hand quickly. The cut wasn't too deep, though blood beaded from where the flesh was parted, sliding down his finger and dripping onto the floor.

He popped his index finger in his mouth, sucking at the wound. He ignored the coppery flavor of his blood, and the stinging his tongue brought to the cut each time it ran over the opening. After a few moments—and when the taste of copper began to weaken—he pulled the finger out of his mouth and wiped it on his trousers.

He slowly made his way to the window, his eyes peering out upon the small town of Darkshire. Corvus knew it was a pathetic town, and that the people who lived within it were incredibly poor. The air was always cold, and not a single ray of sunlight felt the need to touch down upon the cold cobblestone of the streets. A couple of candles flickered within the foggy windows of those who were still awake at this hour, but most of the houses held nothing but darkness within.

Despite the nine years he had been living here, this place felt nothing like home to him. It was dark and gloomy, and he was forced to remain within the perimeters of the house. He wasn't allowed to play with the other children, nor speak with any of the traveling vendors that stopped within Darkshire. His only source of fun was sneaking off into the woods at night to watch the giant spiders spin their webs and nurture their eggs. Of course, he was always reprimanded for such actions, and would be punished harshly by the hand of his father.

Corvus sighed softly, pressing a palm to the cool glass. How he wished he could escape from here, away from this little shack he was supposed to consider home. He peered up into the starry night. That was the only other thing besides the spiders he took appreciation too—though dense fog would coat the ground often within the night, there were some intervals where Corvus could take a peek at the stars. He relished on how they glistened within the dark sky. He figured that if those stars were able to shine their brightest when darkness surrounded them, he thought that he would be able to endure his family too.

His eyes slid up to the great moon within the sky, and he felt a pang within his heart.

_But these stars have a loving mother,_ he thought sadly to himself.

_They have the glistening moon, and I don't._ He shut his eyes and felt another wave of tears begin to pool at his eyelashes.

_If only…._

_ …__.If only._


	3. Freedom's Flame

"Come here, you fuckin' bitch!" His father's voice rang clearly from downstairs, seeming to painfully resonate throughout their small house. Scrambling and the sound of furniture being thrown to the ground violently seemed to echo after his father's words.

"_Happy Birthday to me_…" Corvus silently sang, staring at the one lit candle he had hidden under his pillow for many years.

"Get away from me you brute!" Came the hissed reply of his mother, as the sound of one of the many already chipped dishes crashing to the floor rose into the air, emphasized her words.

"_Happy Birthday to me_…"

Another scrambling session took place beneath Corvus's room before his father spoke again. "You c'mere when you're asked to, you _whore!_"

Corvus flinched at the last word before shutting his eyes. He could see the light that flickered from the candle's flames through his lids, and feel the heat that gently caressed his skin. He delicately filled his lungs for his breath of a wish, his fingers gripping tightly around the smooth surface of the candle. He had thought long and hard for this special wish. It was his thirteenth birthday after all, and he had finally slipped into the years of a teenager. Every birthday before this, Corvus had held off on his wish, hoping that he could take all of his bundled up wishes and turn them into a wish that was sure to come true. To Corvus, his next thoughts would be momentous. He scrunched up his face tightly, using all of his willpower to conjure the right words to think within his head. He knew he held no magic the day he was able to walk, but he believed he did not need magic. All he needed was faith.

There. _Those are the words to think,_ he finally decided, and continued to fill his lungs up to the brink—until a hot searing pain formed at the tips of his fingers. Without much thought, he hastily dropped the candle with a yelp, leaving it to tumble and flip upon the wooden boards of his room. Corvus looked down at his fingers and began to pick off the hot wax that had lazily ran down the sides of the candle he gripped ever so tightly, which had by that time, cooled. He muttered a curse under his breath for taking too long with his thoughts, and tossed in another foul word for the short-lived pain he endured.

Once he was done quickly picking off the hardened wax from his skin, his eyes moved back to the candle that lolled lazily in place upon the ground. The hardened wax that made the base of the candle was now badly chipped from the impact of the floor, but that was not what caught Corvus's eye. In horror, he watched the still ignited wick of the white candle lick at the wooden floorboards slowly, and then hungrily. The wood took almost immediately to the flame, sparking and cracking in almost defiance as the fire quickly overcame it. Corvus lurched towards his bed, hands open, his fingers hooking into his bed sheets and pulling them off with speed that he didn't know he even possessed. He swatted at the flame with the blanket, in hopes to snuff out the hungering heat. To no avail, the flames latched onto the cloth, adding it to the fiery domain. Corvus reeled back and dropped the blanket, allowing it to be entirely engulfed by the now large flame. Heat crept up to his face, burning his eyes and stifling the very air he breathed.

The flame had now overcome half of his room in a whirling vortex of unbearable heat and sound. His next attempt was to head for the door, but the flames had claimed the path he wanted to take. He was left standing in the remaining section of his room by the window, gasping for air with a panicked look on his face. He watched the flames engulf his bed, causing thick black smoke to rise into the air, hazing his vision. He threw both of his hands over his mouth and nose, attempting to provide a barrier between his lungs and the smoke. His eyes flicked around wildly, searching for any possible way he could escape. He felt himself slowly backing up towards the nearest wall, until a smooth surface met his back. He spun around, his eyes looking out the small window of his.

He ran his hands along the frame, searching for any sort of latch that might cause the window to open. With great panic, he found nothing. He pressed upon the glass urgently, testing to see if it would pop out with ease. Unfortunately, the glass held its ground, providing a difficult barrier between the outside air and the unbearable smoke within the room. There was a great bang on his door, followed by a muted shout from the roaring of the flames. He guessed the noise to be his father, though he knew he would not be able to get through due to the self-made lock that held his door firmly shut.

Corvus blinked again, his head starting to pound from the lack of oxygen. His lungs ached, and his body wracked forward in a fit of coughs and sputters. He slammed his hand on the glass this time, attempting to break it. The window shook, but continued to hold its ground. He could now feel the flames licking at his calves, closing in on his body. The smoke weighed heavily upon his body, cloaking him in a toxic fume that was almost unbearable to breathe. Desperately, he began slamming both of his fists against the windowpane, yelling in anger.

The flames were upon him now, hungrily attempting to engulf his flesh. With a final slam, the glass gave way, sending shards of pain seeping into his hands. Without a second thought, Corvus hurled himself out of the second story window, landing painfully upon the ground. To his surprise, his legs were not broken, but seared with pain at each subtle movement.

He lifted his head up and allowed a groan to escape his slightly parted lips, his eyes attempting to take in what was in front of him. The other townspeople began to gather outside of his burning home, clutching each other with fear flecking their glossy eyes. One pointed to Corvus, and began to move towards him. Part of his mind wanted him to leap into the arms of the woman who began moving towards him with concern, but his heart urged him to run. Corvus let out a howl of desperation and shoved himself to his feet, blinded by pain, and ran between the clustered townspeople out onto the open cobblestone road.

He didn't look behind him. He didn't want to. The screaming in his ears of the panicked townspeople already painted a detailed picture that he felt the urgent need to erase from his memory. Somewhere, deep down, he knew that two of the screams belonging to the chorus of chaos came from the raw throats of his mother and father, who were still within the burning house. Soon, they would be nothing but charred flesh and bone—mere heaps of skin that held no soul.

He scrambled down the cobblestone path for only a few more moments before shoving himself into the thick undergrowth of the dangerous woodland of Duskwood. Tears blinded his vision and each step sent his body in a fit of pain. The breath that entered and escaped from his clenched teeth and drawn back lips was ragged and forced, almost as if his lungs were defiant of the crisp, cold air.

Corvus didn't know where he was heading, for the very source of light he had always relied on was covered by dark clouds. His moon…his mother moon…was no longer there for him. She had seen his terrible deed and banished him from ever being welcome into her loving arms. He let out a cry of anger as his body surged with adrenaline, continuing to urge him forward through the thick wood. With each step, bare foot met the cold earth, while branches that were jutting out from the tree lashed at his skin as he darted past.

For all Corvus knew, he would continue running until he passed out from exhaustion. He felt that as long as he kept running, he would somehow be okay. All of this would be okay. The thought comforted him for a slight second until his right foot hooked around an unearthed root, sending him plummeting to the ground. He hit the cold earth with a large _thud,_ knocking the air out of his lungs. He remained on the forest floor, his mouth gaping in pain, clutching his ribs as his lungs struggled to breathe again.

"W-why—" he wheezed, his eyes wide while his fingertips continued to dig deeply into his sides.

Deep down, Corvus knew the answer to his helpless question, though he wished not to admit it. He clearly remembered his thoughts before his foolishness. There, within his room, candle in hand, the very last thoughts before the hot wax met his fingertips resonated clearly within his now pained mind.

_I wish to be free._


End file.
